My Wreckage, Your Ruins
by sailorxbloom
Summary: A post-Battle of Hogwarts Hermione returns to finish her seventh year. When she gets caught up in a secret, the course of her life could be altered forever; but only if she'll let it. DracoxHermione
1. The Bomb

Hermione swallowed a mouthful of toast as her cinnamon eyes flicked over the largest advertisements inserted in the Daily Prophet: Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes announced the re-opening of the store in Diagon Alley, along with a grand opening of a new location in Hogsmeade. A turn of the page revealed a massive full color photo of the village at night, lit by fairy lights strung in massive trees and magicked flames, announcing the schedule for holiday sleigh-rides through the cozy, quaint village.

She was pleased to see that at least _some_ things were getting back to normal, particularly when her seventh year at Hogwarts had been anything but, so far. No Harry, no Ron, no-half-of-the-entire-Gryffindor-house, not to mention the rest of the school. Classes were quiet, but, if Hermione were being honest, much preferable to the classes in the past.

The witch was about to flip the page once more when her eyes caught on a line of a scrolling text in the lower right of the paper. There was no business information, no name, no address, nothing; just the words: "_I need your help."_

Hermione bit her lip and mulled over the implications.

_Maybe someone charmed today's Daily Prophets as a prank- or something more sinister. I could take the paper up to the common room and check._

_Or._

_I could take the bait and try writing something below the text to see what happens._

She reached for her cup of lemon ginger tea, deeply inhaling the steam to center her focus, determined to come to a decision by the time she finished drinking it.

The message, however, changed.

"_Please. I really must speak with you."_

_It's someone that can see me hesitating,_ she realized with a start. It wasn't just some prankster that had charmed every newspaper to mess with the reader.

Making up her mind, Hermione raised her index finger to the paper and drew her words carefully.

"_Who are you?"_

She waited for a reply, attempting to keep her focus on the paper, so as not to spook whomever was contacting her. As the minutes ticked by, however, Hermione couldn't keep her eyes from roaming.

Taking a quick scan of the Gryffindor table, she saw that absolutely none of her fellows had out parchment and quill; no big surprise there. A shaft of sunlight illuminated a handful of Ravenclaws, busy scribbling away, but were most likely working on homework like the dutiful little swots they were; not that she one to judge. An inspection of the Hufflepuff table revealed only one student with a quill, but from where she was seated, it appeared to be a lunar chart and the impact of the moon on certain carnivorous plant species; and certainly not a secret message.

Hermione held her breath and raised her eyes more carefully as she moved on with her investigation. While the students of Slytherin house that returned had been nothing but cordial, and some, even friendly, she _still_ couldn't help her initial knee-jerk reaction any time she risked catching Draco's piercing gaze.

The air about her would grow heavy, clanging against her insides like the eerie calm before a thunderstorm. The urge to flee down the corridor, to jump from the window, to disillusion herself, to blast him into the wall, send him careening down the stairs, or crash him into a fire, was barely contained.

Seeing as how she didn't wish to murder anyone today, Hermione took a slow, deep breath before she looked up again. Her eyes landed on the easily identifiable head of silvery blonde hair first, only to find that Draco was speaking to Theo and Blaise. Both were clearly making fun of their pompous friend, whose face had turned a soft shade of pink; no one was holding paper or anything else that could possibly be written on.

_Prat. Guess it isn't you, then._

She finished her bacon just as another message finally came through.

"_Meet me in the library after lunch. Study room #9."_

Hermione frowned. _Sure, why not? What could possibly go wrong?_

Hermione spent the time between breakfast and lunch preparing for whatever the mystery meeting had in store by completing her morning strength training in the room of requirement. After showering and heading back to her private dorm, Hermione packed far too many potions and charmed items that might come in handy if it came down to a duel into her beaded bag.

_Am I paranoid? Absolutely. Is this overkill? Definitely. Is it better to be prepared for absolutely anything? Always._

Hermione entered the library and quickly found the study room- of course, she could easily find anything in the library, having spent more time in it than the Gryffindor common room. Casting a silent _revelio_,she noted a disillusioned presence in the room.

She murmured a quiet _muffliato_ and notice-me-not charm before she entered the space, preparing for the worst.

"I know you're here- and so help me Gods, if you're Draco, I will hex you straight into the next life." At the sound of panicked breathing Hermione rolled her eyes and took a seat. "Well?"

A few moments later, a very pale, terrified witch stood before Hermione. She hardly recognized upon first glance, and it wasn't until the girl spoke that she was able to place her.

"I didn't know who else to turn to-."

"Astoria?"

"Yes," the younger witch whispered back. "I need your help." Her wide blue eyes filled with tears.

"_My_ help?" Hermione asked archly. "Me, specifically?"

"Yes, you're the only muggleborn I know," the girl explained.

_At least she didn't call me a mudblood_.

Hermione examined the witch, her normally sparkling blue eyes and mirthful grin had been replaced with sunken, dark circles under her eyes, tense lines etched into her forehead, and a light sheen of sweat had broken out across her face. She was either quite ill or hadn't slept in many days.

"Sit," Hermione directed quietly, unable to keep from sympathizing. "Speak."

Astoria sat in the chair across from Hermione and rested her elbows on the worn oak table.

"Do you remember seeing me at the Yule Ball," she asked quietly.

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "If I recall, you were with Theo Nott."

"Well, my body certainly was."

Hermione caught on quickly. "Polyjuice?"

"Yes," Astoria bit her lip. "One of your friends helped me so I could go with my real date."

"Who was your real date?" Hermione asked breathlessly, almost fearing her answer.

Astoria looked down at her hands and began to fidget nervously. "You have to understand, Hermione, he was seen as a blood-traitor and-," her tears finally fell. "My parents, the Dark Lord, I- no one could know. No one."

Hermione waited, her list of options narrowed to a select few. Only one truly gave her worry. "Not Ron?"

"Gods no!" Astoria answered her quickly. "Er- sorry, I know you-"

"I don't," Hermione cut her off quickly. "People just assumed, but he ruined any chances far earlier than the Yule Ball."

"It's Neville Longbottom," she breathed his name gently, as though the sound of his name were there, offering support.

Whomever Hermione had been expecting, it certainly wasn't Neville. "I don't understand-"

"It was Autumn in my third year," she began. "A sunny Sunday, so I took a walk around the grounds to clear my head. And I rounded the corner of some bushes and bumped into Neville-, quite literally-, and we ended up talking for hours on end. Every weekend after that, hours and hours. It just kind of happened; I didn't expect to fall in-"

Hermione wasn't quite sure how to process such ground-breaking information and her mind immediately tried to refute it. "Neville went to Yule with Luna-"

"Luna is a dear friend of mine and has been graciously donating her hair to me for years."

Realizing how very likely this behavior would be on Luna's part, Hermione's body finally relaxed, as though she were giving in. She closed her eyes and took a few moments to sort through the possibilities. "So, you need help?"

"Yes," Astoria answered, voice cracking, eyes wide with fear. "I'm pregnant."


	2. The Plan

_A/N: Currently looking for a beta!_

_Thanks for reading!_

* * *

Hermione stared blankly at the girl, her jaw slack with surprise. Whatever she was expecting, it hadn't been _that_.

"What exactly do you think it is that I can do to help you?" Hermione asked archly, fearing the answer.

"Well," Astoria gulped and repositioned herself on the cushioned chair. "I need to disappear. Into the muggle world."

Preparing to be asked to help Astoria terminate her pregnancy, Hermione was shocked into silence.

It took a few tries of opening and closing her mouth as she thought through the request. "Why?"

Astoria raised one perfect eyebrow, as though the answer should be obvious. "Perhaps because it's the only place no one that knows me or would ever find me?"

"That makes sense, I guess," Hermione allowed, her shoulders finally dropping in agreement. "Does Neville know?"

Astoria looked exceptionally pained by her question, her lips twisting into a frown.

"I take it that's a no. Why?"

"Until we can be together, there's too much risk; he isn't good with Occlumency."

"And you think there's a real possibility that there's someone who wants to hurt you and would?" Hermione asked, hardly able to believe it was a likely scenario.

The Slytherin studied the Gryffindor's face very carefully, measuring her potential ally. "The war may be over, but you and I both know that the aftermath is far from."

Hermione rubbed her hands across her face, suddenly weary, feeling far older than she was, burdened with first-hand knowledge of just how deeply prejudices ran in their world. "Fair."

"So, you'll help me?" the girl asked, the tiniest of sparkles returning to her eyes; it was hope.

Hermione turned her gaze back to the smooth, wooden table, her brain already trying to consider the best course of action. "Yes," she agreed quietly and reached to tug on her hair in thought. "Do you have any sort of plan laid out at all?"

* * *

Hermione returned to her room, automatically checking to see if her wards had been broached. Pleased to find she was alone, the witch passed through the solid stone wall and set her books, notes, and beaded bag onto one of her desks and sat down to work.

The rain slapping against the window was too loud, then the sound dampening charm too strong and her room too quiet. She was too hot, too cold. Her ability to focus was simply not with her.

Hermione heaved a frustrated sigh while she worked through the feelings that were nagging at her brain, and eventually determined the problem.

_It's time to confront Luna._

She grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment and quill, opened her ink and placed it to the paper.

_L,_

_I can't believe you didn't_

_How could you lie about something like_

_I know we haven't always been close but I thought we were_

_Would a warning have been too much to ask? I mean, this is just so much_

_I think it's clear exactly what I'm referring to and how I'm feeling about it. Is there any chance you could reserve a room in Hogsmeade so we can discuss things?_

_M_

She performed a drying charm to the ink, folded the stiff parchment, and slipped it into an envelope before sealing it with wax and a seal of her own design. Old habits dying hard, Hermione couldn't resist adding anti-tampering charms that, on top of wiping her parchment clean, would render anyone other than Luna with a wicked case of slug-vomit.

_Thanks, Draco for inciting Ron's anger, I suppose._

She paused, pondering her line of thinking; since when did Hermione Granger aim her gratitude at Draco over one of her own friends?

_Curious_.

Deciding it was better to not dwell on thoughts better left alone, she shifted her focus back to the tomes on wizarding pregnancies, the titles of which included classics like "What to Expect When You're Expecting a Magical Baby", and the much less kind, "From Forgetting Your Conception Charm to Cuddling Your Crying Child".

* * *

"Could you not stare at her like that?" Draco asked his dark, lean friend acidly.

"Listen, mate," Blaise nudged his easiest target, "I don't get what the big deal is, I mean, she's single, and she's fit as _fuck_. I know it's hard to understand how I might feel, but just think about it for a minute," he goaded Draco evilly, knowing full well Draco _had_ indeed thought about it.

"Pulling her nose out of those books," Theo drawled slowly, twirling his glasses in thought. "Shaking loose her grip on control, unraveling the mystery that is _Hermione Granger_."

"You are so absolutely disgusting," Draco snapped quickly. "I mean, really, as if you would-."

"Oh, I would," Blaise breathed slowly. "Over and over."

"Second," Theo chimed in before crushing a grape in his mouth and swallowing it down. "I mean, can you imagine? The tightly wound truly shatter the most beautifully."

"For the love of-"

"Draco, mate, if you can't get beyond the silly pure-blood nonsense, there really is no hope for you, is there?" Blaise pressed him with a grin.

"I mean," Theo cut in before their friend could respond. "You know as well as I that the muggleborn eradication agenda was merely a means for V to gain power and money; a foothold among the prejudiced elite. Well, that, and he hated himself."

"Granted," Blaise continued, his tone actually saddened, "what happened is an absolute travesty; point is, you know as well as we just how deluded pure-blood purity really is."

"Obviously," Draco snarled, beginning to become truly worked up, pink spreading across his porcelain complexion. "I just-, it's _Granger_, after all. The very thought is just so disgus-."

"So help me, Draco," Astoria spun in her seat to face long-time friend. "If you finish that thought, I will blast that smug smirk permanently off your face."

"Touchy," Blaise cooed condescendingly. "Don't tell us you would enjoy Granger as well– I'd be happy to share but didn't think you were the type."

"I'm the type," Theo cut in with a grin.

"You have no idea how touchy I am," the girl answered through gritted teeth, rage reaching her eyes.

Realising what dangerous territory they were treading in, Theo decided to advise his friends. "Ease up. Tori's been through a lot."

"No shit," Draco muttered darkly and turned back to his plate of food.

"Sorry, Tor," Blaise offered quickly. "I know things have been hard since Daphne."

Draco flicked his eyes to her face and almost imperceptibly, shook her head in the negative.

Without another word, Draco left his seat in the Great Hall and headed to the library. He holed up in Astoria's favorite study room: it had been enchanted to be reminiscent of a forest in autumn, leaves on the trees falling occasionally, the later evening bringing with it a few owls, ever watchful.

She joined him about a half-hour later with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I needed to finish eating. After that, I had to shake Blaise and Theo off of apologizing for the Daph thing, and then, you know, it actually brought it all back and–" she explained, tears filling her eyes at the mention of her sister.

Draco jumped up to wrap his arms around the girl he had come to view as a little sister. "I know, Tori, I know," he murmured quietly, running one hand down her back soothingly. "And don't be sorry for needing to eat; you need to keep that baby fed, too."

* * *

List of books and information she would need to be retrieved from the muggle world tucked safely inside her pockets, Hermione minced along a secret pathway through the grounds to Hogsmeade. While students weren't exactly allowed to leave the grounds at night, Hermione didn't exactly follow the rules anymore. She had the sense, however, to cast a few charms she had picked up while on the run; absolutely no one would be able to see or hear her, not unless she wanted them to.

She pushed open the door to the Hogshead Inn, a gust of wind and swirl of snow accompanying her. Aside from a few seemingly unsavory characters, the inn's dining room and bar was nearly empty of patrons, and those that were left weren't in any way concerned by the fact that the door had opened and closed on its own.

Up two flights of stairs and three doors down on the left, Hermione felt a subtle shift in the air, indicating the room on the other side had been warded extensively. She blew softly against the wood grain and the magical threads that composed the wards glittered like dew-covered spiderwebs, alerting Luna that she had arrived.

It took only a few moments for her to break them and slip inside before warding them in once more.

"Mia!" Luna breathed dreamily, tucking a loose wave of her silver locks behind her ear and squinted at her friend. "You seem to have rid yourself of the wrackspurts!"

"How, lovely," Hermione indulged her briefly with a smile. "Now," she readjusted her robes and took a roll of parchment from inside. "This is everything I'll need you to find me. Considering it's almost holidays you can owl them without raising suspicions."

"How thorough," the girl observed, her lips curving into a smile. "Or breezing through our reunion because you're still upset with me."

Hermione sat in the rickety chair at the too-short desk without being asked and turned a petulant face toward her friend. "You know full well it can be both."

A tinkling laugh burst through Luna's lips, sounding of windchimes and the gentle bubbling of a moonlit brook. It broke through the tension that had been hanging around them and Hermione was able to realize that her irritation may not be well placed.

"I'm sorry, Luna," Hermione whispered and smoothed her robes once more. "I just don't like being surprised."

"Oh, sweet Mia," Luna addressed her kindly. "I know, and for that I am sorry."

"But until Astoria knew what she wanted to do, it wasn't any of my business," Hermione pieced together quickly.

"Precisely."

Hermione nibbled on her lips and tapped the rolled parchment against her hand in thought. "You're a skilled Occlumens, then?"

"Natural defense," Luna answered mischievously.

_Well, that's a nice bonus. _Hermione thought with a mental roll of her eyes.

"It isn't all fun and laughs though, you know," Luna intuited her thoughts. "Prejudice. Never was able to take Ancient Runes."

"That elitist cunt," Hermione muttered darkly, wishing desperately the professor was still employed at Hogwarts. She had a few choice words saved up for her.

"Mia!" Luna chided her, but the look on her face was far from annoyance. The girl was positively gleeful to have found such loyalty in Hermione.

"I never thought about it," Hermione answered regretfully. "About the doors, I mean."

"Yeah, well, the ruin stones were placed as excavated relics; no one thought anything of it."

"Except Sirius and James," Hermione countered. "They went to Dumbledore, you know. Told him it was speciesism, aimed at Remus."

"Which of course led to absolutely no action at all."

The two witches shared a silent exchange; acknowledging each other's pain and anger, wrought by the hands of a man who thought himself so much larger than life itself.

_Always above it all, unable to see he was right in the middle of it._

"Anyway," Hermione pressed on, hoping to divert herself from that line of thinking, "here's the list of supplies I'll need. The house elves will see that they are delivered to my private room."

Luna took the parchment from her and answered, "It was very thoughtful of McGonagall set that up."

"She knew I wanted to come back and did everything she could to make it as easy a transition as possible."

"And has it helped? The privacy?"

Hermione fidgeted with the hems of her sleeves in thought before answering, her eyes roaming to the ratty velvet hangings on the window. "A little."

"Not much," Luna clarified.

"I thought you were the optimist," Hermione answered dryly, meeting her friend's gaze.

The flickering candle lights warmed girl's silver eyes. It was there Hermione saw that some of her light, her glow, had left her. The orbs glued to hers shared her partial loss of conviction that regardless of circumstance, the world was a beautiful place and worth saving.

"I'm trying to be," the girl answered flatly.

"Is there…anything that can help with your _specific_ issues?"

"Fae issues?" Luna considered for a few moments. "There aren't enough of us for me to know for certain; full-fae that are taken by darkness would simply become Shades. I don't know if or what I'll become."

Hermione shivered at the thought and was grateful her friend was still here.

"When a fae starts to change, we are to take to the enchanted ponds and streams where new, half, and full moon rituals can be performed."

"Have you been doing them?"

"Oh, yes," Luna answered quickly. "And I'm relatively certain it's the only thing keep the darkness at bay."

Hermione glanced at a gap in the draperies, the waning crescent hanging in the sky looked back at her.

Luna noticed her gaze and gave a sad smile. "Full to new is the longest stretch between them, hence my disposition."

Hermione thought for a few moments while the half-fae read through the list she had made.

"Luna," she started gently. "Have you considered therapy? For your witch half, I mean."

Luna studied her friend thoughtfully, a look of hope spreading across her face. "That's a wonderful idea, Mia! I've never considered it."

"Well, I'm glad I can do _some_ good."

"You've done _plenty_ good," Luna shot back automatically. "Are you feeling like you have to be _doing_, still?"

Hermione didn't answer her, her thoughts drifting to the cursed knives she kept stashed under the far pillow on her bed, along with the various spells and potions for battle magic kept on her at all times. She thought of how she still woke up in the night, a decorative jar filled with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder clutched in her clammy hand, sweat dampening her thick curls. Even in sleep, where she was unable to escape her own mind, she was ready to make her exit.

_Always ready._

Deciding she couldn't risk answering her friend without losing her grip on the present, Hermione shifted her focus back to Astoria's problem.

_Suppose I do have to be doing things, then,_ she thought grimly and sighed.

"Astoria?"

"Right," Luna took the hint and returned to the list. "I'll be able to get all of these in muggle London?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes," Hermione answered with a grin. "I know you haven't been often, but the names and addresses of shops will be able to get you where you need to go. Let me know what day you plan on going and I'll arrange for a muggle driver to pick you up a short distance from The Leaky Cauldron."

Hermione reached into her robes once more and pulled out a wallet containing muggle money and a black credit card. "Use the card," she lifted it out of the wallet to show the girl, "on all purchases if you can. The clerks may tell you they don't accept cards." Hermione slid the card back in and fished out the notes. "These are pound notes. The different numbers indicate the value," she explained. "If a purchase comes to between twenty and twenty-five pounds, for example, you would pass the clerk both a twenty and a five-pound note."

"Just math, then," Luna answered her with a smile. "If I get confused?"

"There are no shops I'm sending you to that would short-change you, so if you need help, tell them you aren't from England."

Luna nodded happily, apparently excited about her shopping mission.

"Oh, and please feel free to get whatever you fancy as well," Hermione continued with a smile. "There's far more than enough muggle money and it isn't like you can use wizarding money- your day or _days_ out are on me." She reached into her robes one final time and withdrew a pouch full of galleons.

"That's way too much, Mia," Luna breathed delicately, trying not to offend.

"You're risking a lot," Hermione countered with a frown. "I don't know that any amount would be enough- do you have Polyjuice on hand?"

"I do," Luna answered happily. "And hair. I got it from the sweetest-"

"Don't tell me how or whose," Hermione cut her off. "Best to go about this as quietly as possible."

The girl nodded with a grin. "I can be stealthy."

"I know you can," Hermione answered with a quirk of her lips, grateful to have the half-fae on their team.

* * *

_**Don't forget to review on your way out!**_


	3. The Tables

_A/N: I haven't abandoned this fic! Promise!_

_Thanks for your support!_

* * *

Hermione glared mutinously at the grey and black owl tapping on her window, and the still dark skies behind it that indicated just how early it was. She wrestled herself free from blankets that were twisted around her ankles and lowered the knife she held at an angle in her left hand; she was relatively convinced that her own owl wasn't here to murder her in the night.

"There, there, Ophelia," she shushed her bird quietly. "You know I won't hurt you." Hermione set her knife down on a desk lining the wall as she unlatched the window to allow the soft creature entry.

Ophelia hopped onto her desk and shot Hermione a sideways look before shoving her leg toward the girl, indicating she was to remove the scroll from her leg.

"Thank you," Hermione told her kindly and dug around in a drawer for a treat to give her. "I appreciate you coming this late, it just scares me sometimes."

The owl met her gaze and hooted once softly with what was probably understanding, then bent to grab the treat from the girl's fingers.

Hermione took the opportunity to unroll the parchment and read the letter.

_M,_

_I believe I am prepared for the journey! If possible, I would prefer departing from the Apparition Station at ten o'clock on Wednesday morning. If all goes well, I imagine I'll be able to return on Thursday. Though, the closer we get to Christmas, the higher the risk I'll come across mistletoe. _

_As I'm sure you know, Nargles are bound to be in high spirits this year; what with the heavily oppressive energies hanging in the air having dissipated with Voldemort's fall. This would normally thrill me, but as a very distant relative to them, Nargles tend to target me at a much more frequent rate._

_If I run into trouble, shall I send an owl? Or will arrangements be made in advance for the potential of a slightly longer stay?_

_Thank you always, sweet Mia,_

_L._

Hermione couldn't keep herself from smiling at her friend's observations of the unseen. It had taken Hermione a long time to come to a place where she believed the girl, but if anyone _could_ see Nargles, it _would_ be Luna.

_L,_

_I'm arranging for your transport immediately. I will also ensure that the driver has your itinerary, cross referenced with your lists for ease of shopping, along with your hotel reservation._

Struck with an idea, she reached for her bedside table and rifled through it until her hands landed on a carved wood box. Wasting no time, Hermione freed it from behind a nearly endless supply of protection pouches, flipped the lid up and reached for an old bracelet. She performed a quick _gemino_ charm, duplicating it and forming a magical link between the two.

Resting against the window ledge, Hermione allowed the light of the nearly full moon to wash over her and thoughts of Luna to fill her mind until her magic broke free from her flesh in sparks. Her hands passed over the strips of braided leather, transforming them into the silvered twisting limbs of some long forgotten faerie forest. Delicate blossoms and droplets of dew formed along thinner branches that wrapped in and out of her creation.

With her index finger, Hermione grazed what would be the top of the bracelet, drawing upon the magic imbued in the metal, and withdrew, joining her finger to her thumb as she pulled away. An opalescent moon was set inside the apex of a cluster of thorny branches that reached to protect it, creating a nest of sorts.

She opened her eyes and examined her handiwork, and picking up her own bracelet, pressed her thumb to the moon and felt the sun charm on her bracelet grow cold to the touch. Allowing the signal to fade, Hermione pressed on the sun to verify the reverse held true: the moon on Luna's grew warm.

With a smile of satisfaction, Hermione grabbed a purse to help Luna blend in. She tossed it into a drawstring bag, far too small to hold it, but managed, thanks to an undetectable extension charm. She sat back down at her desk and continued writing back.

_I have included a bracelet for you: it's linked to one of my own and pressing the moon on top will signal me._

_I don't imagine you will run into any trouble, but if for any reason you become concerned- think you're being followed, feel you're in danger, become lost- alert me immediately, and I will apparate to you._

_Inside the pouch is a black purse that will help you blend in around Muggle London. I recommend wearing simple trousers, a jumper, and a coat. The pouch is to store your purchases once you've returned to the car- do _**_not_**_ put things into the pouch while you're around Muggles!_

_M._

Hermione rolled the parchment and placed it into the pouch before casting protection charms and tamper-activated hexes, as per usual, to keep the package safe.

She approached Ophelia and stroked the owl's head gently before passing her another treat. "Thank you, lovey," Hermione whispered into the owl's feathers. "Do you have any idea how much I appreciate you not being afraid of me?"

The owl finished her treat and pecked lovingly at the girl's hand as if to say _don't be silly. I'm not like _**_those_**_ owls._ Ophelia took off for the witch's friend, and Hermione closed her window.

She reached out mentally for the house elves and a tray appeared less than two minutes later. There was a small plate containing a cooked egg on a slice of toast, and a mug of chamomile tea. Eternally grateful, Hermione dug in, needing to nourish her physical body after such heavy spellwork. She finished the snack quickly and downed her tea before crawling back into bed, grateful for whatever rest she could before her late morning tea with McGonagall.

* * *

Minerva studied the girl and waved a hand at the tray on the tea table between them. She produced an array of biscuits, croissants, coffee, and tea, along with milk and sugar, clearly hoping the girl might indulge.

Hermione reached for a teacup and saucer to set upon the narrow table at her side. She settled herself into a plush, crimson armchair that sat in a small alcove inside the Headmistress' office.

"What did you wish to discuss, Headmistress?"

Minerva took a sip of her tea before speaking. "I'll get right to it, Miss Granger: If possible, I'd like your help creating an initiative for inter-house unity."

"I don't understand," Hermione answered her with a frown. "Things have been quite civil this year."

"Civil, yes," Minerva sighed crisply and set her porcelain cup aside, the branches and flowers decorating the top swishing with the sudden motion. "Dare I hope to aspire to more than mere civility?"

A startled laugh burst forth from Hermione's lips at the Headmistress' serious tone. "I'm so sorry-" she choked out. "I don't mean to be rude, I just-"

"It's a lot to ask of you, I know," Minerva told her sternly, though not unkindly as the girl caught her breath. "Of anyone."

Hermione straightened herself out and dabbed stray tears from her eyes on the sleeves of her jumper.

_Ah. Just some mild hysteria breaking through the mask of sanity I have to put on every day. Nothing to see here, Headmistress._

"I think that I would like to be part of this project, but I need to know the extent of my involvement before giving you an answer."

"I can understand that," the Headmistress answered her kindly. "I do not wish to keep you from your studies- you are however, one of the few people in this castle that…" she trailed off.

"Cares?" the younger witch asked tartly, cup halfway to her pursed lips. "Understands? Desires change?"

"Hardly," Minerva answered her with a frown. "You're one of the few people I trust interacting with the other students while trying to pull everything together."

Hermione took another sip of her tea, waiting for the woman to divulge more information.

"If the school went about this in a formal way— if we invited the Ministry in— we would be setting up a situation in which students wouldn't feel comfortable talking about their ideas and feelings."

"You don't want anyone to feel like they're on the spot or risking being outed, politically, is what you're saying?"

"Correct," Minerva responded crisply. "As much as things have improved, there's still a long road ahead of us, and I fear that the children with the most to lose now, are those in Slytherin house.

"In your first year," Minerva continued, "when Gryffindor won the House Cup, Albus said something about Neville while he awarded the final points. Do you remember what it was?"

Hermione bit her lip and fidgeted in her seat, already knowing where she was headed. "It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but even more to stand up to your friends."

"Correct again, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor."

Hermione rolled her eyes, points being the least important thing in her life right now. "From what I understand, some are still facing pressure from their family."

"Quite so."

"And you think that, even though I'm muggleborn, I'll have a shot at their being candid with me?"

"I do," the Headmistress responded with a sense of finality.

"Well," Hermione said after a few moments of silence. "I can offer you a suggestion at this very moment."

"What might that be, Miss Granger?"

"Be rid of the tables dividing us in the Great Hall; there are so few of us that it's just silly at this point."

"I— that would be—"

"Unprecedented, yes. But I don't see how you can preach unity and good will if we aren't encouraged to mingle outside of our Houses."

"I will take that into consideration," Minerva answered thoughtfully.

_I certainly hope so._

* * *

Hermione parsed through the library, running her fingers along the spines of tomes both new and old, and selected those that would interest her. She pulled book after book, and set them down in the charmed cart that followed her silently through the aisles.

It didn't quite feel the same as it did before; the library, the books, the smell, had been her calm, her quiet, her refuge. But now, it was only as calm as she _could be_, as quiet as her mind _could be_, and didn't offer much in the way of refuge.

Sure, she was able to count on the library and information to be there for her, but there was some kind of shift in the air that made it _not the same_.

It wasn't just that the destruction wreaked upon the castle had changed it irrevocably— it was the sound of a tiny whisper inside of her that reminded Hermione the castle wasn't her home anymore: _nowhere is_.

She rounded the corner of a bookshelf near the study rooms and considering there were another ten minutes until her meeting with Astoria, Hermione was surprised to hear two voices coming from #9.

Instinctively, she ducked behind a towering bookcase and nestled into a far corner to listen. Granted, backing herself into a corner didn't exactly feel _safe_, it was the perfect place to listen in on anyone stupid enough to not cast a muffliato.

_So__, I'm spying again. Old habits die hard, I suppose._

The deep timbre of a man's voice could be heard through the wood of the door. It sounded familiar in a way, but Hermione couldn't quite place it and shifted her attention to the words being spoken, instead.

"...can't tell her Tori. She won't like it and you can't risk losing her..."

Astoria said something Hermione couldn't make out but was cut off by her companion.

"...just trust me, okay? Please? You _need_ her help as much as you do mine."

When Astoria didn't answer, the voice continued. "She'll be here soon; please just update me later."

Without another word, the door opened and with in a flurry of movement, an all too familiar silvery-blonde head of hair vanished between the aisles.

Hermione couldn't help it; her body reacted automatically, pulse sky-rocketing with adrenaline that compelled her to either tackle him and demand to know what was happening, or disapparate from the castle— which was impossible. A third option, and one that surprised her, was to simply stand there and do nothing.

_Ah. Fight. Flight. I suppose I have now met Freeze._

It wasn't until Astoria poked her head out of the door to scan the room some minutes later that Hermione realized she needed to move.

She freed herself from the clutches of trauma, or, at least shifted them aside for now, and walked wordlessly to the room, unable to meet the girl's smile of welcome. She waited for Astoria to take a seat and put up her usual charms, then took her own.

Hermione ran her hands along the wood grain of the table, each swirling line that brushed against her palms helped to tether her to the present moment. And kept her from thinking of _the room_.

More observant than Hermione might have given her credit for, Astoria waited for the moment to pass and for her movements to cease, before speaking— for which Hermione was grateful.

"Mia," she whispered gently. "Do you need anything from me?"

"I…" Hermione wasn't exactly sure what the girl could do.

_Explain yourself? I mean, I guess it isn't too unclear, is it? Draco is probably helping her, too, but doesn't know the muggle side of things. That makes sense. Does it have to change anything? Has it? Would an explanation even help? Would it make things worse?_

Unfortunately, hher unrelenting need to know absolutely everything won out and Hermione opened her mouth to speak once more. "I saw him. Explanation, please?"

Astoria's dainty lips formed a small 'o' of surprise, though, she didn't appear to be upset to be called out.

_She doesn't wish to hide anything, which is some relief, I suppose._

"Well, it's rather embarrassing," Astoria allowed then repositioned herself in her seat, straightening her back and squaring her shoulders; a reflex of her upbringing. "War Reparations almost cleaned us out," she continued primly.

Hermione frowned, and afraid of offending the girl, Astoria continued. "I mean, we certainly owed them— my father was an absolutely awful man, and our fortune obviously helped to support a despicable faction before reparations. I told you, not to earn sympathy, but to be upfront about my situation."

"My role is to help you sort out life on the Muggle side, and Draco is…?"

"He's my benefactor, I suppose," Astoria answered ruefully. "I understand there's history there, and if you would rather I leave him out of it, I know Theo would be willing to help me— I just prefer keeping the number of people that know of my pregnancy to a minimum, and—"

Hermione held a hand up to stop the girl's rant, allowing her to take a breath of much needed oxygen. "I understand."

"You do?" Astoria asked, surprise overtaking her clear anxiety.

"We can't risk more people finding out— between Draco, Luna, and myself, we already have a decently sized circle. Is there anyone else?"

"No," the girl confirmed quickly. "I'd like to tell Neville over the holidays but don't know if that's entirely wise."

Hermione quirked one dark eyebrow in response.

"I mean, obviously I trust him, but again, he isn't great with Occlumency."

"And you don't trust others," Hermione responded in an understanding tone. "I know I asked before, but I_ must_ ask you again: do you think there's a real possibility that you're in immediate danger?"

Astoria brought her hands together, her fingers twisting this way and that, her nerves jangled once more. "I don't know if _immediate_ danger is the right phrase, but I do know that any child Neville and I share would be at risk."

"How so?" Hermione asked, needing to get to the bottom of the situation.

Astoria's eyelids fluttered shut with a sigh. when she answered, her voice cracked. "Our child could be used to punish me."

"Is that likely to happen?"

Astoria's sparkling blue eyes snapped open to reveal a glare so scathing that Hermione could only imagine it ever being achieved by none other than Medusa, herself. "I wouldn't have asked you for your help, otherwise."

Hermione's brain spun through the possible factors that would lead to the witch fearing this and viewing it as a likelihood, and could only form one conclusion: "Someone has been punished already?"

Astoria didn't answer, and chose to simply look away, either unwilling or unable to speak about whatever atrocities she had borne witness to.

Hermione leaned her elbows onto the table in front of her and rested her head in her raised hands. Close to the wood, she caught a whiff of something cool, like pine trees and earthy, like moss and grasses fighting to break through snow. The mental imagery reminded her to calm down, and rubbing rough circles into her temples, the witch fought against the surge of adrenaline that came with knowing someone's life was at risk. Or in this case, three.

Adrenaline is meant to be useful, Hermione knew, but it was less so in a body that had been so oversaturated with it that normal emotions fell through the cracks because they were not large enough to register. Her body was preparing her for the future, the danger, but pulling her farther and farther away from any chance at reaching normalcy.

Combined with her previous reaction not even a half hour ago, Hermione's body was caught somewhere between rigidity and an ache that reminded of her very much of working out.

_But if I'm feeling this way, surely Astoria is too…and the baby?_

She worked to right her posture quickly and changed her demeanor from one of frustration to one of understanding and acceptance- or at least as close as Hermione was capable. She summoned a tray of tea and snacks a moment later, and produced parchment and quills from her bag, along with lists of details to go over with the pregnant woman.

Somehow, someway, they would figure this out.

* * *

Draco stopped dead in his tracks: "Where is our table?"

Theo ignored his friend's distress and forged onward, unwilling to let his calm and collected mask slip for even an instant.

With a roll of his eyes, Draco fell into step with Blaise instead and ended up seated somewhere near to the middle of the Great Hall— though, it would be difficult to determine such without the usual tables for reference.

The space where four exceedingly long tables had once stood, was now littered with tables that each seated no more than ten people, and some, even less. They were also arranged in a pattern that defied all logic and flow.

The Headmistress stood and walked to the podium while Astoria took a seat next to Pansy at an otherwise empty table adjacent to his own. To Draco's surprise, it was Pansy who waved Hermione Granger over.

He raised an eyebrow at the exchange, but his thoughts were immediately interrupted by Headmistress McGonagall.

"Good morning, students," she addressed the school in a crisp voice. "As you can plainly see, the Great Hall has been…greatly modified. For decades, we have used the houses to represent our values, designate sleeping quarters, assign classes, organize sports, and even _dictate where students sit for meals_."

_Oh, no._

Draco's stomach sank down, down, down, never hitting the floor, never stopping; a pit of endless anxiety.

"It had been thought that doing so would instill unity, allow for team building, create a family of sorts, for which you strive to make proud: this was a bit of a mistake."

_Oh, no, no, no._

The gasps that met her statement echoed through the hall, but she redirected before the surprise gave way to whispering.

"Let me be clear; the mistake wasn't in creating the houses; enforcing such strict separation of the student body, however, has only served to _divide_. It's all fine and well to have pride for your house team, to have separate common rooms and even classes, but as far as mealtimes go, there is absolutely no reason that we can't learn to share space and build new friendships."

_Well, fuck me._

* * *

Hermione scowled through a mouthful of toast topped with orange marmalade, lest Malfoy get any ideas about joining her table with Astoria and Pansy. She was treated to the sight of Malfoy withering under her gaze, and with the satisfaction of victory, she turned back to her breakfast and tuned back into the discussion.

"We need to be doing something for fun," Pansy lamented. "I mean, this is school, obviously," she directed at Hermione, knowing full well how the girl felt about learning. "I just think that if 'inter-house unity' is what we're going for, why not encourage social activities outside of classes and trips to Hogsmeade."

"That isn't a bad idea," Hermione allowed with a small smile. "We haven't gotten around to reinstating many after the pink toad made her exit, but in muggle schools there are all sorts of clubs and the like that students can sign up for to participate in." She watched the girl's face for any emotion at the mention of the muggle world, and was pleased her expression had only changed to a smile at the thought.

"What sorts?" Pansy asked, her deep brown eyes glittering with excitement.

"Well, there's chess," Hermione suggested with a frown— it never had been her forte, after all, and of course it reminded her of _them_. "Which we have clubs for, but also foreign languages, pottery, painting, poetry, books, film—"

"Films!" Astoria squealed.

"Thank the Gods," Pansy exploded simultaneously. "Everything else sounded absolutely horrid."

"Films, as in muggle films," Hermione reminded them.

"Yes," Astoria answered seriously.

"You don't understand, do you?" Pansy asked. She didn't sound condescending, rather, that she knew they were approaching this topic from two different sides of thought. "Muggle anything is so deliciously taboo for us. You'll get plenty of Slytherin attendees, and that's kind of the point, isn't it?"

Hermione felt herself blush and spoke quickly, "Actually, to point is to get students from all of the houses to attend."

"Yes, but we're the problem house," Pansy pointed out. "Don't worry, we know."

Hermione wasn't quite sure what the make of the girl's one-eighty in personality, but was pleased to hear that gatherings wouldn't be void of the house with the most strained history with muggleborns.

"I'll see about getting a few films brought in then," Hermione answered with a smile. "But I'll have to find some kind of way to play them…hmm."

* * *

**_*Thank you for reading!_**

**_Don't forget to fav and review on your way out!*_**


	4. The Nightmares

_A/N: I'm doing my best to update when I can and appreciate the patience of my readers while I'm dealing with school, my health issues, and the pandemic._

_I hope you're all staying safe and well, and have a wonderful new year!_

* * *

That Draco was nervous was an understatement. For starters, Astoria had let slip that he was involved. And okay, sure, Hermione had mostly figured that out on her own, but it wasn't as though her knowing would make this all any easier.

_No. This will not be easy. At all._

Draco glanced into the mirror of his bathroom and studied his reflection.

He looked tired, the way he usually did. His light skin was translucent enough to showcase brilliantly the deep purple staining under the skin of his eyes, and even tired, thread-like veins on his lids. A closer look revealed that his stubble was dangerously close to lending him a scruffy look, but he wasn't sure he could bring himself to care.

Draco had just bumped into his friends on the way into the Great Hall and wasn't paying attention to the conversation happening around him when he agreed to something Pansy asked without thinking about it. It wasn't until they were in the Great Hall and he was being dragged to a table where Hermione was sitting that he realized just what he had agreed to.

_How could I be so stupid?_

Thankfully, she was seated on the opposite end of the table. Less thankfully, though, she was seated on the opposite side, which meant that any glance her way wouldn't be missed. Which meant that Draco had to be careful.

He turned his attention back to Blaise, only to find that the man was leaning on one elbow so he could eye Hermione quite openly.

"Can you not?" Draco snapped quietly.

"Why not?"

"Because she's— I—"

"She's what, Draco?" Theo teased just as quietly.

"Lovely," Blaise answered with a sigh.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Draco hissed and clenched his jaw.

Of course, it was his outburst that drew her attention. Hermione frowned at him, then locked eyes with Blaise, who seemed to lick his lips without realizing it.

A harsh laugh erupted from the Gryffindor, resulting in the most crushed look Draco had ever seen on his friend's face.

"That's rough, mate," Theo offered and elbowed the scorned man in the side lightly.

"Bloody abnormal," Blaise muttered to himself.

Draco couldn't help the smile that spread across his lips, and if he wasn't mistaken, caught the ghost of one on _her_ lips as well.

* * *

Wednesday morning came and went, and with it, no word from Luna— which was a good thing, Hermione had to constantly remind herself. The fact that the half-fae was wandering around London and dosing herself with Polyjuice Potion was the only reason that Hermione was truly panicking.

Rather than lose her mind, she turned her attention back to Transfiguration. If someone had told Hermione Granger, even two years ago that she would struggle to concentrate during a lesson, she would have thought them well and entirely mad.

Most of her schoolmates thought the only thing she truly cared about was school, but the truth was, Hermione was devoted to knowledge, in whatever form that might take. The only good thing to come out of the nearly two years she spent on the run with her friends was the vast amount of knowledge she had acquired.

School was important, yes…but when there was nothing new to learn, Hermione had found it increasingly difficult to hang on to the words of her professors. In fact, she had even gone so far as to reevaluate the importance of her education in her life.

The trouble today, however, was when she wasn't focused on helping her new friend and finally tuned back into class, her would be treated to flashes of Malfoy sitting one table away from her in the corner of her eye. Worse yet, neither had partners at their tables, and should Professor Bertram move beyond theory and into practical application, they would surely be paired off.

Hermione held her breath as the end of class neared, hoping against hope that the usually chatty professor was up to snuff today. And yes, there it was, with Pansy Parkinson kicking off a round of panicked questions, along with handfuls of others, it was clear they were going to end the class with discussion.

Professor Bertram wheeled up and down the aisles, looking over students' notes before answering their questions to figure out where they were at in the process. Truly, the Muggleborn wizard was one of the most thorough professors to join Hogwarts in the entire time Hermione had attended the school.

He was lovely, with bright blue eyes and tousled dark hair that reminded her so much of Harry; if Harry were in his twenties and in a wheelchair. The professor had been very open about his disability— "Yes, disability. I am not differently-abled. I am disabled. Disability isn't a bad word. If you think it is, you should ask yourself _why_ you think that. If the society we live in shapes our perceptions of disability, what might you be taking away from that narrative? What might you contribute to future discussions on the subject, now that you're aware the problem isn't in the language, but by what people think of disabled people?"— and truly, Hermione couldn't have been more thrilled to have him teaching the class.

For all her years apart of this world, the lack of disability inclusion was still one of the more troubling issues, but fell behind defeating a Dark Lord and keeping her friends alive for some time. But seeing a disabled person that wasn't "fixed" by magic, that didn't feel the need to hide his "shameful" condition was doing loads of good for others in her school.

Not that he had to be anyone's teachable moment, but that was something Professor Bertram had taken upon himself. He was an advocate, just like she, and as nervous as she had been to see McGonagall transition to Headmistress, Hermione truly couldn't have been happier.

She had never once taken the chance to look, but out of curiosity, she watched Draco's reaction as the professor wheeled by. Instead of the smirk, or grimace of disgust she might have once expected, Hermione was surprised to see the Pureblood offer a whispered 'thanks' to the man when he clarified a note Draco had made during class.

Hermione wasn't entirely prepared to view Draco as a fellow human being, let alone a considerate one at that. But she was trying. Every singe day she tried. Especially now that it seemed he wouldn't be removed from the Astoria Equation anytime soon.

And truly, she hoped she could see him that way. Someday.

* * *

Draco watched as Hermione— or Mia, as Astoria kept calling her for whatever reason— bolted from Transfiguration class the moment they were excused. She had spent almost an hour hunched over parchment she had clearly enchanted to be unreadable by prying eyes, and the remaining fifteen minutes sitting so rigidly in her seat that Draco was sure she had been petrified.

Her flight, however, discredited his outlandish theory, and he was forced to accept that it had once again been his presence that set her so on edge.

Draco couldn't blame her. Not in the slightest. If the situation was reversed and he had to experience the things he was forced to watch happen to her, while she watched on, he wouldn't want to be around her either.

And that's what hurt the most.

That after all the years he had spent _dying_ to know her, _dying_ to share a back and forth with her absolutely brilliant mind, _dying_ to tell her everything he could never tell her, never admit to feeling, she almost had died.

He had to sit, frozen, watching while his aunt carved at Hermione's soft, beautiful flesh, placing the most heinous word she could think of on a place where the girl would never be able to escape it so long as she lived. He had to sit, frozen, and unable to even tell Hermione he was sorry with the emotions that begged to be released from his eyes. He had to sit, frozen, and helpless.

The world almost lost her that day.

And he would never have her.

That's just how it would be.

Draco didn't know how or when his feet had taken him to the library, but it's where he found himself some time after leaving class. He certainly didn't mind— with his light schedule leaving hours to go until dinner, the library had become a safe-haven for him.

As beneficial as having his own quarters was in terms of avoiding scaring roommates when he woke up screaming from his nightmares was, Draco had no desire to spend any more time than he had to in that space.

It reminded him of how much had changed, of how very real everything had been when all he wanted to do was forget it all, it reminded him that he had every reason to be plagued by horrifying visions whenever he closed his eyes.

Draco gave a friendly nod in Madame Pince's direction who flashed him the smallest of smiles. It wasn't that she didn't wish to smile at him, but that she so seldom smiled at all, that even the tiny acknowledgement was kind of her.

Out of everyone in the school that had reason to hate him, she did. There was more than a little amount of information, unable to be found anywhere else, that had been lost forever during the Battle of Hogwarts. That she didn't personally blame Draco was a wonder in and of itself.

Possibly it had to do with the fact that the library had been every much his second home as it had been Granger's— not that she ever noticed.

His hands were automatically pulling the familiar ancient tomes from the Restricted Section. Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere in the pages of some five-hundred books of the subject had to be the answer. It had to be there. It just had to be.

* * *

Hermione watched the expression on Astoria's face change from one of excitement to one of overwhelm in a few short minutes. The impressive lists the brightest witch of their age compiled was more than a little much, it would seem.

"I think just picking out the things that are important or worrisome to you right now would be wise, and we can go in sections from there."

Astoria nodded at the sound advice but kept her eyes downcast.

"I know it's a lot," Hermione said in what she hoped was a soothing voice, "but it's going to be okay Astoria. You aren't the first pregnant witch and you won't be the last…and you aren't alone."

Astoria laughed roughly and leaned back in her seat. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears and she needed to take a moment to compose herself. "That, I am not. Between you, Draco, and Luna, I'm confident we can pull all of this off."

Hermione studied her with concern, then, trying to figure out what was wrong. "Even so, you seem, erm—"

"It's the damn hormones," Astoria said and waved her off. Then, she erupted into tears, pulled her legs up off the floor, and tried to wrap her arms around her knees. Unfortunately, it was at that moment that Astoria realized the swell of her stomach was finally starting to make that pose difficult. "I just wish he were here," she sobbed. "I don't want to do all of this without him! He should be looking at these lists with me, making decisions with me. I don't know— I don't know if I can do all of this without him!"

It wasn't the enormity of things she had yet to do, Hermione realized suddenly. Help or no help from her friends, Astoria needed her partner to get through this physically and mentally.

And for a single moment, Hermione felt a twinge of jealousy. Not for the fact that Astoria was pregnant, as Hermione was relatively certain she would never want to, nor be able to, but for the fact that even though he wasn't there, Astoria had someone out there that _could_ help her feel secure.

Hermione joined Astoria on the couch-like bench that ran the length of the far wall in Study Room #9 and placed a hesitant arm around the girl's shoulders.

Astoria clung to her side immediately, and after a few moments of uncertainty, Hermione gently ran her hand down Astoria's head. A minute or two passed in which the pregnant woman slowly began to calm.

When she finally cried herself out, Hermione risked speaking. "As much as you fear discovery, I think it's important for both your health and the health of your baby that you speak to Neville over the holidays, Tori."

Astoria sniffled and nodded against Hermione's jumper. "I know. I just— I'm so afraid that—"

"I know," Hermione whispered as her friend began to sniffle again. "I'm going to spend as much time as I can trying to find a way to help keep you all safe, okay?"

Astoria nodded once more, and remained where she was, taking all the comfort she could get.

Hermione wasn't as sickened by touch as she thought she might be after everything that had happened, unless, of course, her mind didn't register a pregnant witch as a threat, but still. Today might actually be considered progress.

* * *

Draco replaced the three books he had removed from the shelves and began to wander the library. For years, had he ever not known where to turn when he was feeling frustrated or lost, all he had to do was walk through the rows aimlessly until a book stood out to him.

Whether it was that the library was sentient, he subconsciously knew what he needed and made for the proper section, or that the "intuition" his grandmother assured him was normal for their family was actually real, the act of seeking a book had never failed him.

Something whizzed right over the top of his head, far more quickly than he was comfortable with. Draco drew his wand and was on his guard immediately when he saw another projectile a few shelves to his left emerge from the shelves.

He was startled to find it was, in fact, a book. This one was moved far more slowly than its fellow, and Draco decided that following the thick tome might just be the most exciting thing he had done all week.

The book floated through the air ahead of him and made a bee-line for the back of the library. It was entirely possible that the library was simply re-organizing itself, but it typically waited until night to do so…no, this was something more.

He passed the final row of books and found himself face to face with Study Room #9. Inside was Hermione Granger with the curled up form of Astoria Greengrass pressed against her. If Draco wasn't mistaken, the pregnant witch appeared to be napping.

In the single second of time between Hermione looking at the text in her hands, and flicking her eyes up to him, Draco imagined roughly fifty different scenarios that would immediately play out but three stuck out in his mind.

The worst: Hermione jumping up and screaming at him for sneaking up on her and jostling Astoria awake and causing a massive scene that would surely cause Pince to ban him from stepping foot inside the room again.

Less awful but not good: Hermione sending a barrage of hexes that would send him straight into the shelves at his back and refusing to work with Astoria from that point on.

Better, but less likely than the former: Hermione slamming the door shut with her wand.

But out of everything that could have happened, Draco hadn't expected her to simply freeze. She didn't look terrified. She didn't look mad. She didn't look…anything.

"I— sorry, I was reading and then the book—"

"You followed a floating book through the library?"

Draco was so shocked she had spoken to him that he stuttered again, "I— yes."

"What made you think it wasn't a cursed book meant to lure you to your death?"

Draco didn't know whether to laugh or not, considering that may well have crossed her mind a time or two for it to burst so readily from her lips.

"Well, all things considered, that might not be the worst thing to happen to me all year."

He immediately regretted his choice of words and was surprised to see the corner of her lips quirk ever so slightly as she battled a smile.

"Careful, there's another month, yet."

Draco's stomach dropped at what was quite likely a threat. Though, the moment she said it, Hermione frowned and looked down at the sleeping Astoria.

"I— do you think we can ta—"

"No," Hermione cut him off firmly. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to."

"Then what do we do?"

She studied him with softer eyes than she had before and frowned in thought. "I propose a truce of sorts. We work together for Astoria's sake and nothing more. We stay on task."

Draco nodded quickly in agreement— it was far more than he had ever allowed himself to hope for.

* * *

Hermione roused Astoria for dinner and was pleased to note that Draco had either already eaten by the time they arrived, or was dining on his own elsewhere. Either way, it was better than having to see his face again.

She felt slightly guilty at the notion— obviously, he had every right to eat food in the Great Hall…but she had every right to feel comfortable. She had every right to need space after the unexpected meeting.

Mulling over the incident while she finished off a small slice of baklava— a delicious delicacy the house-elves produced only around the holiday season— Hermione was able to process the interaction. The way she handled herself was something she was feeling a little proud of, actually. The fact that she hadn't _wanted_ to harm him and also hadn't woken Astoria was a sign that she was making progress in terms of her triggers.

Hermione left the Great Hall and made her way to her chambers in a much lighter mood than she had upon entering it. Sure, she was tired after such a rollercoaster of a day, but somehow better than before. Perhaps having pushed at her boundaries a little helped her to reevaluate how far she had come.

She was surprised to find an unopened scroll on her bed, however, and her cautious nature took over once more. She leaned against one of the stone walls in her chambers and began to count her breaths, extending the time in between them to bring her pulse back into a mostly-normal range.

When Hermione felt calm enough to proceed, she took a seat on the bed and noticed a small piece of parchment next to it.

_Owl came while Mitsy was doing cleanings for Miss Mia and made such racket, Mitsy had no choice but to allow her in._

Apparently, Ophelia had taken it upon herself to ensure the letter was delivered promptly. Hands trembling, Hermione broke the seal and sighed with relief as the parchment glowed before unraveling. The charm was one that Luna had perfected after Mia's insistence that their messages me protected, so it was safe to assume her friend was the sender.

_M,_

_I will indeed be staying another night in Muggle London. I had no idea how truly large and complex the shopping centers were and might have gotten a little lost, a little distracted, and a little explorative._

_With my return to shopping tomorrow, is there anything else you and our friend need added to the list?_

_L_

Hermione grinned at the thought of Luna running around London and could easily see how the ever-curious half-fae could easily find the city interesting.

She jotted down a quick reply with a list of films or television series she might want picked up if they could be found, along with a few suggestions should the girl wish to do some sight-seeing.

It was only when the letter was finished that Ophelia made her presence known by hopping onto Hermione's bed.

"Merlin's beard!"

The owl looked at her balefully, as if to convey it wasn't _her_ fault Hermione hadn't been as observant as usual.

"Yes, yes," the girl muttered and walked over to her desk where she knew she could find Ophelia's treats. She grabbed a few and rejoined the owl on her bed to feed them to her. "Have you had any troubles in the Owlery lately?"

Ophelia seemed to understand her question, as she always did, and shook her head in the negative.

"Good. I know it hasn't been easy for you to go back smelling like me." Hermione heaved a sigh and settled back into her bedding. "It isn't your fault they're afraid of me now."

More than once upon her return to classes, Hermione had snuck out of her chambers and ran to the Owlery to send panicked letters to her friends. But the moment she got to the open-aired resting chamber, she would fall apart, her keening wails sending each and every one of them away from the tower.

Eventually, they began to take flight prematurely, the moment they heard her footsteps, it would seem, for they had nearly all cleared out by the time she arrived, rolled parchment clutched in her hand.

Her overwhelm, her panic, her pain, had cost her the trust of the animals, and the fact Ophelia hadn't abandoned her since socializing with the other owls was not lost on Hermione. Especially when Hermione still woke up screaming or ready to attack if the bird startled her awake in the night.

No, Ophelia had a job to do, and she was damn well going to do it.

"You really are wonderful, you know that?"

* * *

Draco woke to find himself laying in sweat-drenched bedsheets and after taking a few moments to catch his breath and orient himself to his private chambers, he removed himself from his bed. He had long since avoided covering his body in any way, simply due to the way his legs and arms would become tangled and increase his panic.

How he managed to actually sweat every night, even without coverings, in the cold castle was beyond him.

With a wave of his wand, the sheets were dried and freshened, but the thought of taking an actual shower to clean himself was too appealing. Thankfully, a quick_ tempus_ check revealed it was reasonably near enough to his usual waking time and he allowed himself the luxury of cool water to spray down upon his overheated flesh.

Draco was set on autopilot as he moved through his showering routine, washing his hair and face in the colder temperatures, before cleaning his body in warmer water. He always finished with the tap so close to the maximum heat that it nearly scalded him. It was, however, the only thing that helped ease some of the tension that he held in his body from the moment he woke until the moment he fell asleep at night. If he was lucky.

He let the water pelt against his back, lashing areas of raised, scarred flesh with hot strikes. That slight pain against his healed wounds was the first thing that, after everything, reminded him he was still alive. And not for the first time, he wondered if Hermione had to do the same with the marks on her arm caused by the very same blade.

That his thoughts could still drift to her, could still make his heart flutter, could still bring a surge of warmth— that had nothing to do with the shower— to his broken body was nothing short of amazing.

His breath caught in his throat as flashes of the day before washed over his mind. She hadn't killed him, and that was a start. It was better than he deserved for how little he had been able to help her. When all he could do was make himself watch.

Shuddering at the memory, he turned off the taps and leaned his arms against the wall of his shower to calm himself back down. He gulped down the fear, the shame, the agony that was always trying to creep back in.

* * *

Hermione woke with such a jolt of terror, she was sure she had actually been struck by lightning for a moment. She jumped from her bed and darted to her desk. There, in a charmed box, lay a vial. With shaking hands, she freed it from under the sentimental trinkets the small chest contained. In a few seconds, the vial was dumped unceremoniously into a stone bowl.

Hermione stared down into her Pensieve. It was holding a memory. _The_ memory.

Early on in her recovery, Hermione's nightmares were relatively straightforward: she was either running, never able to stop for even a breath with Harry and Ron. Other times, her dreams were of Bellatrix torturing her with both wand and knife.

After three weeks of these dreams, and turning down Dreamless Sleep Potions every single night of them, the nightmares finally changed.

Hermione was being tortured, just as she was before, but instead of looking at Bellatrix for most of the nightmare, she watched Draco. Some nights he laughed, some he taunted her, some his face vanished entirely, was nothing but a lump of flesh, and in others yet it grotesque and misshapen, elongated and stretched away from his skull like something out of Muggle horror movies.

Hermione would have no other option but to watch the memory to remind herself what really happened.

She watched it in the early morning hours after waking from twisted nightmares. She watched it every time one of those scenarios played out in her head during her waking hours. She watched it over and over, and let herself fall apart. She watched it until it didn't make her cry.

Until it didn't make her feel anything other than sad for the memory Hermione laying on the floor.

And that's when Hermione became Mia.

It wasn't a dissociative thing, but every time she heard her name, she flinched at the sound, remembering the way Draco had been demanded to identify herself and Harry.

"_Well, is she or isn't she Hermione Granger?!"_

'_I…I can't be sure.'_

"_You can't be sure? You can't be sure if she's the filthy little mudblood or not? Is she Hermione Granger?!"_

The way the voice screamed her name into the boy's face made her tremble and shudder for him, for the pain it promised he would be subjected to later for failing to answer.

And so, between rounds of facial-musical-chairs and the way her name sounded in that foul mouth, "Hermione" was ruined for her. She could no longer hear it without hearing that voice, without imagining what would happen to Draco at the hands of that voice.

The swirling silver, vapor-like fluid always reminded her of liquid mercury used in older Muggle thermometers, and the instinct to pull away was a strong one. Still, Hermione plunged her face into the Pensieve and let the memory claim her for the first time in weeks.

All she did was watch Draco. He sat on the couch, back straight, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on her, no expression on his face.

For months, Hermione was convinced he simply hadn't cared. That given the atrocities he had witnessed, seeing his classmate and the ease with which he mercilessly bullied others, perhaps watching Hermione, bloodied and writhing on the floor of his family home was simply nothing special.

This time, her eyes didn't leave him. She moved closer and closer, until finally, she was no more than a foot away from the Draco of her memory. He didn't move at all. Not a single twitch. He didn't even blink to let his tears fall.

It hit Hermione like a million stunning spells and caused her to fall back onto her bedroom floor. She scooted away from the memory, horrified by what she had discovered.

You can't scream, you can't help, you can't cry when you're petrified.

By never taking his eyes from her, the one thing he could control if he had so wished, Draco Malfoy had done his best to make sure she knew she wasn't alone.


End file.
